


Magnificent and Unusual

by QueenRiza



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blue and Gansey Can Kiss Goddammit, California, F/M, M/M, Multi, Roadtrip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRiza/pseuds/QueenRiza
Summary: Henry sighed dramatically. “We’re not going to be able to drive into LA until nighttime at this rate. And to think, all I wanted from today was to see the Hollywood sign up close.”“You’re not allowed to,” Blue said. “I read something about it online. It’s technically private property, and you could get thrown out or arrested.”“And to think,” Henry repeated. “All I wanted from today was to illegally see the Hollywood sign up close."





	Magnificent and Unusual

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is, uh, quite an old fic actually! It was originally written for a fan project from 2017 where fic writers would each write a fic about Sarchengsey visiting and exploring the writers' hometowns. It was a super cute idea, but unfortunately didn't end up happening, but I did end up writing my fic for it, so here it is by itself. I've stolen the title from a quote describing California's weather, because I thought it also quite nicely applied to these kids. Please enjoy this outrageously fluffy and summery tribute to Ventura County, California on this very cold and rainy Valentine's Day!

“For the record," Blue said, staring up at the sky and squinting a little from the sun. "This wasn't how I wanted to die."

"Oh, I don't know," Henry said pleasantly, peeking over to the road below before paling considerably and taking several steps back. Blue, forever considerate, pretended she hadn't noticed. "It's not a bad location, you know? California. The closer I am to Beverly Hills when I die the more I feel I've accomplished in life."

"We could all be _alive_ and in Hollywood right now, if things had gone according to plan," she reminded him. This last statement, though technically addressed to Henry, was said fairly pointedly in Gansey’s direction.

He pretended not to hear her - or, absorbed as he was with the _Trails of Ventura County_ book he had in hand, it was possible he actually didn’t.

“Just leave it,” Henry suggested fruitlessly for probably the third time. “We can just trek back the way we came, even if it is ‘just doing the same thing over again.’ That book isn’t going to help because I’m fairly certain we passed by any actual ‘trails of Ventura Country’ at least an hour ago. It’s a little tedious, but I have a fairly mundane preference for monotony over toppling off of this mountain into a ravine.”

 “I don’t think this counts as a ravine,” Gansey said, not addressing the rest of the request. He was squinting at the book bizarrely, with one eye nearly closed. He had accidentally rubbed one of his contacts out earlier in the hike.

“Steep, ominous, life threatening,” Henry listed. “What are the other prerequisites for being a ravine?”

“Some kind of water. Or being formed by water,” Blue provided. “These are just mountains.” Gansey looked delighted with her for readily supplying the information, so she added in a needlessly ominous voice. “ _Death mountains.”_ The tone was particularly needless because, all things considered, the mountains weren’t really that tall or foreboding looking. Tall enough that they _would_ die if they fell off, but that wasn’t really the mountain’s fault.

There was a prolonged and jarring blare of a horn as a car rumbled beneath them. It was a less than ideal location. The hike had started as a fairly unremarkable thing; an excuse for some exercise and fresh air, for Blue to get to take a look at some of the cacti and chaparral that defined this area of California. The land rose in stunning transformation from tropical to desert only half an hour away from the sea, sucked dry by a need for water that existed in incomprehensible quantities a short drive away. However, Gansey had insisted on taking a detour he was certain he had discovered, and an hour of well-meaning attempts at navigation later, here they were, standing above a tightly twisting and furiously moving mountain pass.

They really did need to get out of here.

Henry sighed dramatically. “We’re not going to be able to drive into LA until nighttime at this rate. And to think, all I wanted from today was to see the Hollywood sign up close.”

“You’re not allowed to,” Blue said. “I read something about it online. It’s technically private property, and you could get thrown out or arrested.”

“And to think,” Henry repeated. “All I wanted from today was to illegally see the Hollywood sign up close. You’ve lost your sense of adventure, Blue, and I hear the hike is supposed to be lovely.”

Blue looked at the sprawling expanse of chaparral and dusty mountain rocks. A few miles away, farms and fields had hurriedly overtaken the flattest of the land in the valleys. It was beautiful, in a different sort of way than what she was used to. This was a place that had known heat, and in these hills overlooking the neat lines of suburban streets and the green lawns beside them, it was easy to see the towns for what they were: little pockets of civilization made stark only when enveloped by the expanse of the desert, fueled by water from places they would never see; men who had built boxes in a wasteland and called it home. “I think I’ll be more than done with these kind of mountains by the time we get out of here.”

“Well,” Gansey said, and they turned their attention to him. He closed his book at last with a sigh. “No dice, I’m afraid. I guess we’re firmly out of the range this book covers, so…” He trailed off and Blue could tell he was aggravated-- at the fruitlessness of this detour, at his inability to lead them back to the trail. His apparent lack of navigational prowess wasn’t something she had expected to faze him this much.

Henry seemed to pick up on this as well. “I’m sure you could figure something out eventually, but we have engagements to keep, people to see, cultural icons to illegally trespass on. Best to leave this one to experience, no?”

"We’re not still planning on doing LA today, are we?” Gansey frowned a little, too polite to mount a clear objection, but obviously uncomfortable with the idea. “After wandering around here for three hours?”

The slight frown and the crinkle between his brows were somehow a more convincing argument than any outright opposition could have been.

“Well, alright. Hollywood can wait until tomorrow,” said Henry. “But what are we doing instead?”

“Something more local?” Gansey suggested. “Where exactly are we right now?”

Blue neatly removed Gansey’s cell phone from his pocket to open to Google Maps. “The Historic Norwegian Grade,” she said in mock appreciation.

“Historic?” Gansey asked, seeming much more cheered by the promise of something old than of the hike back. “Who built it?”

“The Norwegians, presumably,” she said, clicking on the Wikipedia article and handing the phone back to him in the same way you might hand a piece of candy to a disappointed child.

 _It’s important to understand a little about the history of every place we come to,_ he had said to her and Henry when they’d complained about him pulling over for the hundredth time to read an information plaque on a long stretch of highway. _Otherwise then what’s the point?_

It seemed impossible that him trying to tell her about immigrants carving mountain roads in 1911 could make her love him more, but for this, she did.

Henry had pulled out his own phone. “Well, there’s the beach, a harbor... there’s more hiking, some ambiguous restaurants— did you know the Department of Agriculture thought this was the most desirable county to live in the United States?”

“Huh,” Gansey said. “I did not.” He looked around as if suddenly expecting to find something shinier and more exciting. “Maybe they mean a bit more coastal?”

“I vote checking out this harbor,” Blue said in a kind of agreement. “And maybe the beach. We are in Southern California, we might as well try to get the full experience.”

“It should be so,” said Gansey.

“It should be so,” agreed Henry.

* * *

Gansey wondered if he could have been any good at sailing.

He had had lessons, briefly, from a cousin in New England who was determined that he would love the ocean as much as she did if he spent enough time in it. Helen had excelled at it, he recalled, while it had been enough of a struggle for him to keep the boat pointed in _any_ kind of consistent direction, much less the right one.

It made enough sense; Helen had also been much better at piloting a helicopter, and Gansey was already enamored enough with long stretches of road and the steadiness of wheels against gravel to feel that he was not missing much by avoiding being tossed around by forces dictated by the distant and unforgiving pull of gravity.

Also, he had been eight at the time and they had only visited the cousin for a week, so it was only fair to assume he would have gotten better eventually.

Regardless, a lack of a deeper relationship with the push and pull of the ocean didn't mean he lacked appreciation for it, and as he stared at the rows upon rows of little white sailboats emblazoned with the names of lost loves or treasured pets, decked with fancy ping pong tables or smelly piles of fish, it was hard not to feel something like the romantic sting of possibility for a lifetime where he loved a boat like this as much as he loved the Camaro.

It was that thought that brought him back, because it was ridiculous to image a timeline where he loved any other vehicle quite as much as he loved the Pig.

Not to mention, using a boat as faulty as his treasured car would probably have been fatal by now, never mind the fact that Gansey and death had already proved to be an incompatible pair.

"The, uh, Black... Lagoon's... Temptress," said Henry, apparently deep in contemplation, and Gansey was brought back to the conversation at hand.

"You're not naming a pirate ship," Blue said sensibly.

"Aren't I? It's the perfect set up; who would expect to be raided by a boat like that? The gold plated railing of luxury seafaring would be the last thing you see before you die. What about you, Richardman? If you had one of these boats to putter around the Pacific coast of Ventura, California in, what would you name it?"

"The Pig II," Gansey said without thinking. He licked contentedly at the mint chocolate chip ice cream he had purchased from one of the small, colorful shops that lined the harbor, symbolically marked with an almost human-sized statue of a generously scooped ice cream cone. It was cool and refreshing amid the heat.

"You know some people name boats after their girlfriends," Blue reminded him.

"Or boyfriends," Henry put in.

"I know, and I think I've stayed fairly consistent to theme of naming boats after your greatest love," he said teasingly, and then kissed them both, because being here, with the cool sting of ocean spray and mint ice cream on his tongue, had left him with a craving for something tangible and sweeter, something he had finally found.

"I'll hand it to you," Henry said, as Blue stole a bite of Gansey's ice cream. "You really know how to talk your way out of trouble."

"Teachers have always praised me for my eloquence," he said in mock consideration.

"Oh, stop trying to be cute," said Blue.

"You're unfortunately good at it," Henry added. "It's putting the rest of us at a disadvantage."

"You're even worse." Blue was making a show of being irritated, but it was that charade didn't quite reach her eyes or stop the upward tug of her mouth. She chucked her own discarded ice cream spoon she had finished eating her own ice cream with at Henry, which he quickly dodged - or would have, if the spoon had had any chance of hitting its target to begin with.

Blue stood, frowning, and walked over to collect the discarded plastic. She spent a long moment standing in place, looking vaguely in every direction, and if he hadn't known her so well, Gansey probably would have called over to ask if everything was alright. A few moments later, she grinned triumphantly, took a few steps, and tossed the spoon into the newly located recycling bin. This time she did not miss.

"Saving the earth one account of aggravated assault at a time?" Henry quipped.

"Don't make me mess up your hair," Blue said coolly. "I have an entire ocean and a lot of anger, and that's a quite a bit of gel."

Henry gasped, at least in part sincerely, Gansey suspected, and a hand flew up in defense of his carefully spiked shiny black locks. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

Gansey tutted. "And you two accuse me of flirting."

"I'm surprised at you, Dick." - Gansey grimaced reflexively but didn't object. For whatever reason, Henry was the one person he didn't entirely mind using the nickname - "You've forgotten a fundamental truth: it takes one to know one."

"Oh, speak for yourself," Blue huffed, but she was smiling, so the statement lost a bit of its weight. For all her indignant practicality, she was comfortable, she was happy, and she was a little bit wild. There was nothing like seeing corners of the country that had been previously unreachable to set Blue Sargent into something like ease, which had manifested itself as unwavering excitement for everything life had to hold, as well as a kind of permanent blissfulness Gansey had only seen in glimpses before. Gansey had seen it, and he knew Henry had too - and they both loved her furiously for it.

The sun was high in the sky. Gansey flicked a bead of sweat from his forehead. Things felt good. On either side of him, Henry and Blue maintained their ceaseless banter. Things felt very good.

* * *

"No, I'm not getting in," Henry said. Frankly, he was a little surprised they had to go through this.

"This isn't _entirely_ cosmetic, is it?" questioned Gansey.

"Of course it's cosmetic. What else would it be? It's not like I don't know how to swim. By all means, please continue to splash around. You're both very cute, but know I'll continue to look even cuter as my hair stays unmolested and I work on my tan."

Blue crossed her arms, feet planted firmly in the sand. She was dripping from head to toe and the ocean had restyled her already wild hair. The sea had stolen the clips and bands she had tried to control the disobedient locks with and brought it to frizzy black waves, tumbling every which way and breaking into spikes and harsh jabs. "This is what we get for dating a model, isn't it?"

"You forgot the bit where I have stunning good looks. But other than that, yes, pretty much."

This wasn't to imply that Henry disliked the beach, or the ocean, or even swimming, for that matter. There was an aesthetic attraction to the ocean he certainly appreciated (and what kind of one-percenter and world traveler would he be if he didn't think some things were worth doing purely for the aesthetic value?); he wouldn't have had his incredibly short-lived career as a potential Aglionby Crew member if he didn't enjoy swimming. He didn't take to it like Blue or Gansey did - but to be fair, Gansey had been an actual member of Aglionby Crew (not to mention its _captain_ ), and Henry suspected that Blue's innate, genetic longing to be among the stars manifested somewhat as an appreciation for the ocean; it was, in some respects, Earth's desperate and lovely attempt at the same sort of thing.

The fact was-- and he supposed this was probably a bit vain, but that didn't make it any less true or fair - that he really had put quite a bit of work into his hair this morning. And frankly, the fact that it still looked good after hours of hiking in Californian heat and being exposed to salty beach air was not so much a miracle as it was a testament to this. Choosing not to actively ruin his hair after all it had gone through - and then publicly appear in this imperfect state - struck Henry as an understandable and reasonable sort of vanity. Gansey could not possibly understand; Henry had known lots of boys in his life who had cultivated their appearances to perfection, but the infuriating thing about Gansey was that his own brand of this was more or less unintentional, and Blue's style was so dictated by the appearance of not caring that it almost made up for the fact that she did, quite a bit.

He sighed. The sun was beginning its sloping arc from a place fixed well overhead to an eventual descent beneath the sea, and gentle waves caught rays in tiny explosions of light. It was beautiful here, and he supposed he didn’t know any better place or company for being at his worst.

"Well, I guess if Mr. Great Hair over here can manage this and still come out alright, I should be able to, too. But I'm warning you, if I leave unsatisfied, there may be legal action involved."

"I wait with baited breath," replied Gansey.

And it was beautiful. It was the sun sinking even further until the entire ocean was painted a gentle pink by celestial brush strokes. It was Gansey getting knocked over by a rogue aggressive wave and coming back up with a mouthful of sand. It was Henry nearly falling over when a piece of seaweed brushed his leg. It was not caring about anything at all because of who he was with. It was not needing words when company like this would do.

Eventually the sun was all but gone, aside from traces of color left in the sky, and the Pacific Ocean had turned icy around them. The three of them climbed into the Pig, parked neatly beside the harbor, and watched the world fade from bright, to bold, to a blackness broken only by shop windows and stars.


End file.
